


The Ladder to Hell

by twentyfourblackbirds



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Dubious Morality, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 09:09:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3644715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twentyfourblackbirds/pseuds/twentyfourblackbirds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unfortunately, if you descended another few rungs in Harry’s personal ladder to damnation, wanking to an illicitly-obtained video feed of your protégé and mentee was so far from fine it could have mailed you a postcard of perdition, merrily captioned “Wish You Were Here!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ladder to Hell

The road to hell, Harry reckoned, was not a road at all, but a ladder. Nor was it paved with good intentions, but with ever-degrading rungs of “It’s Fine”.

Take, for example, attraction to another human being. Poets wrote entire odes to that small, simple spark of genuine emotion, that fickle flare of brain chemistry that some chased like the end of a rainbow. Why, even children knew that crushes were innocent and beautiful things to be treasured while they lasted. Attraction was completely fine.

Now take, more crudely, the act of masturbation. Plenty of people would tell you this was a perfectly normal and natural up to a point. That suppressing one’s sexual drive was unhealthy and that the act of self-love helped clear the mind at crucial times. Masturbation was, while not acceptable in all social situations, nevertheless mostly considered, these days, to an extent, fine.

Unfortunately, if you descended another few rungs in Harry’s personal ladder to damnation, wanking to an illicitly-obtained video feed of your protégé and mentee was so far from fine it could have mailed you a postcard of perdition, merrily captioned “Wish You Were Here!”

In short, Harry thought, his trousers pooled around his ankles and his cock cooling in his fist, he was utterly fucked and absolutely going to hell.

\----

It began, as most things did, innocently. An accident, if you will.

“Merlin, could you forward me Gawain’s latest report on _what the hell is that_.”

Merlin followed Harry’s gaze to one of the monitors on the wall. On-screen was a wonderful display of Eggsy in the Kingsmen showers, buck naked and soaping down for all the world to see. Harry supposed it was a small mercy his back was to the camera, although there is absolutely nothing merciful about the way Eggsy’s muscles rippled as he lathered his hair, or the way his extremely pert bum flexed with every shift of his feet.

“Oh, for fuck’s sakes,” Merlin sighed, interrupting Harry’s trance. He tapped a few fingers on his keyboard, and the video froze and then minimized. “Galahad still hasn’t figured out the glasses have an off switch for transmission,” he explained irritably. “I once had the pleasure of watching him bum a Swedish princess. Blow this, I need a cuppa.” Merlin stood up abruptly and strode off to the kitchen, leaving a trail of dark muttering behind him.

Harry swallowed, very gently. And then he slid into Merlin’s chair, did a quick search for Eggsy’s video records, and dropped the latest file into his personal password-protected network.

By the time Merlin returned, a steaming mug in hand, Harry was nonchalantly leaning against the wall, studying the tablet in his hands as if it were the most fascinating object in the world.

“Sorry you had to see that, Arthur,” Merlin groused. “What was it you wanted?”

“Gawain’s latest report on the situation in Beijing, if you please,” Harry said with perfect equanimity. “And perhaps a word with young Galahad regarding the location of the off button on his glasses?”

“Consider it done,” Merlin turned back to his workstation. Harry, on his tablet, cancelled his 2pm meeting with Bedivere. He swallowed again at the thought of the video awaiting in his office, and hastily crossed off his 3pm as well.

\----

Somewhere along the line - Harry thought it might have been during his short vacation in Kentucky - Eggsy had picked up a almost offensively affected accent. It was, to be quite frank, somewhat insulting that that was what Eggsy thought ‘posh’ sounded like. Harry, however, was too concerned with the slight bulge in his crotch to get much farther than just mildly insulted.

“So I said to the bartender, ‘stirred for ten seconds while glancing at an unopened bottle of vermouth,’ and - here’s the droll bit - he actually did!” Eggsy affected what he must have thought was a sophisticated laugh. Harry thought it was a remarkably accurate imitation of a donkey being strangled.

“Oh my god, you’re so funny,” the mark had slid closer to Eggsy, placing her hand on his knee. “I love your voice - are you Irish?”

From his desk, Harry couldn’t help gnashing his teeth. “For heaven’s sake, what kind of person says “you’re so funny” _without actually laughing?”_ he sniped acerbically. “Eggsy, I simply cannot take any more of your terrible Eton accent. For the love of Queen and country, seduce her already.”

In his ear, he heard Eggsy chuckle roughly, seemingly at a minor witticism from the mark. “Ain’t my fault you volunteered to take over Merlin’s job,” he murmured softly, trying not to move his lips. “ _He_ never whinged ’bout my acting.”

“Merlin needed a break, the poor man,” Harry said dismissively, trying to ignore the way his cock twitched when Eggsy had slipped back into coarse brogue. Regaining his composure, he added, “I would file for vacation too, were I subjected to your horrific imitations for more than one mission. I can see after this I’ll need to schedule some very personal lessons in speech and mimicry with you.”

“Yes, please,” Eggsy said huskily, ostensibly responding to the mark, who was tugging Eggsy from the table and away to her hotel room.

Harry heaved a sigh of relief as the hotel room door closed and the amnesia dart hit home. He even opted for a second gust of appreciation as Eggsy dropped all pretense in his voice, rifling through the target’s purse.

“Lessee… coin bag, ID, five tubes of lipstick and hair spray…” Eggsy mumbled to himself as he dug through the contents.

“Do try to place her belongings in the order you found them in, Eggsy,” Harry remarked. “A lady may be willing to gloss over a drunken night with a one-time lover, but I assure you she will undoubtedly pay attention to any state of disarray you leave. A lady’s purse is not unlike a gentleman’s suit in that regard.”

“Know that from experience, do you, Harry?” Eggsy said saucily. He did, however, begin to paw through the voluminous container with slightly more care. “Bloody hell, it’s like a fifth dimensional pocket in here,” he complained, pushing aside some tampons and nail polish. “This is fuckin’ ridiculous!”

“Language, Eggsy,” Harry admonished without any heat.

“Fuck, buggering, arse, shit, bollocks,” Eggsy retorted quick as a whip, clearly frustrated with how his search was going. Harry masked his intake of breath; his erection had jumped and stiffened with every filthy imprecation. He palmed his crotch through his trousers and bit back a groan.

“It’s no use, Harry, I can’t find it anywhere, and she sure as hell don’t have pockets in that dress. I dunno, mate, I think we should call the Guinness Book o’ Records, ’cause we’ve found the only bloody heiress in the world who doesn’t take selfies,” Eggsy groused.

Harry managed to refocus on the situation. “Pull her dress down, and check her bra.”

“Harry, didn’t yer mum ever teach you not to take advantage of passed out young women?” Eggsy feigned outraged shock even as he slid a searching hand into the mark’s ample cleavage. “Ah- _ha!”_ he said triumphantly, fishing out the prize. “What a devilishly sly place to keep a phone.”

“It’s quite common amongst young ladies, actually,” Harry commented dryly as Eggsy plugged in the Kingsman software into the phone’s ports, which automatically began to feed all of its data into their databases as well as install GPS tracking and wiretapping spyware. “Well done as always, Eggsy. Report to me in person once you’re back at headquarters.”

“Half a mo’, Harry,” Eggsy said, unplugging the device and fiddling around. “I want to give the lovely Claire somefin’ to remember me by.” Holding the phone up high, he made the most punchable and yet somehow arousing duck face Harry had ever seen. The camera flashed, Claire’s state of dishabille in the background. Smirking, Eggsy placed the phone delicately in her limp hand.

“Cheeky,” Harry rebuked, shaking his head, but he couldn’t hide the smile on his face, or the wet spot in his crotch.

\----

Harry couldn’t quite pinpoint the exact moment he crossed his personal threshold of Not Fine. Actually, that was a completely dreadful and barefaced lie.

The _exact_ moment when he had finally descended the ladder into hell, and was now warmly shaking hands with Satan, was when he’d broken into Eggsy’s room and installed bugs for the express purpose of catching Eggsy either masturbating or fucking.

It had begun, as with everything else, with a string of rationalizations. He was testing Eggsy’s home security (which was apparently woefully nonexistent). It was a training exercise. He was merely trying to keep Eggsy on his toes. As Arthur, he didn’t really get to complete any half-decent missions; he needed to keep his hand in the game.

It wasn’t until he brought up the video on his laptop and, hands shaking, unbuttoned his trousers, that he gave up all and any pretenses. He was a dirty pervert, and furthermore, he didn’t regret a single second of it.

He typed in a command to send the feed to his glasses, and leaned back in his chair with a sigh. His hand found his prick, already at half-mast and rising willingly to the occasion.

On screen, Eggsy was spread across his bed, naked and pumping his shaft lazily. Harry’s breath was taken away by that gorgeous sight, all lanky limbs and tight muscles and heat. He allowed his head to tip back, as if praising all the gods that might exist. In his ears, intimate as a lover but sounding far more like a porn star, Eggsy moaned like a filthy whore and began a litany of dirty phrases that had Harry biting clean down on his lip. Precum was leaking generously from the head of his cock. Harry smeared it over his palm and began to wank in earnest.

It was only thanks to decades of razor-sharp training that Harry heard his name, not, as he would have preferred, intermingled with Eggsy’s moans on screen, but slightly muted and from outside the door. The door, which was beginning to click open.

Unfortunately, it was also thanks to decades of razor-sharp and violent training that Harry’s next instinct was to sit bolt upright, snatch his glasses from his face and break them cleanly in two.

And because this was apparently Harry’s karmic retribution, none other than the object of Harry’s extremely inappropriate lust was leaning into his office, one hand on the doorknob and one eyebrow raised.

“Is this a bad time?” Eggsy inquired, looking pointedly at the mechanical carnage on the table.

“Yes, Eggsy, every time is a bad time when one has yet to master the art of knocking before entering, and also when it’s bloody _eleven o'clock_ at night,” Harry said rather sharply and a touch breathlessly, privately thanking the gods for solid oak desks that went all the way to the floor.

“Sorry, sorry,” said Eggsy, not sounding so at all, “I just got back from Berlin. I wanted to talk to you about something I noticed. Something that’s been bothering me.”

Harry surreptitiously wiped his hand on his trouser leg, and willed his heartbeat back to something approaching non-cardiac-arrest levels. “Go on,” he said, shortly.

“Well,” Eggsy made his way into the room, choosing a chair in front of Harry’s desk and dangling from it like a particularly boneless panther, “I noticed that on missions, Merlin calls me Galahad.”

Harry stared at him blankly, trying to ignore the heavy throbbing of his prick. “That is your codename, yes.”

“I wasn’t done,” Eggsy waved him away with some irritation. “I meant to say that you’ve never called me Galahad. You always call me Eggsy, and I always call you Harry, not Arthur. Why is that?”

Harry stiffened slightly. It was a perfectly innocent and legitimate question, but something about the way Eggsy had asked it had not been so.

“I suppose it’s a bit uncomfortable for me to address you by my previous codename,” he said, carefully. “Eggsy, if you’re here to make a complaint about professionalism, I’m more than happy to -”

“In a way,” Eggsy interrupted, smiling oddly, “I _am_ here to make a complaint about professionalism.” He leaned over the table towards Harry, slowly and deliberately. “I don’t think it’s very professional,” he said in low and confidential tones, “to film one of your agents tossing off.”

Harry felt the blood drain from his face. “I -”

“It’s especially unprofessional, not to mention ungentlemanly,” Eggsy interrupted again, grabbing Harry’s tie and pulling him upwards and forward until they were inches apart, “to wank off to said agent without inviting him to the party.”

All rational and logical thought fled from Harry’s head. He looked down at Eggsy’s trousers, which were rather insistently declaring his interest, and could only manage a rather incoherent “oh, fuck.”

“Language, Harry,” Eggsy chided, in a _perfect_ imitation of Harry’s own tones. The little sod. That was a declaration of _war_. Harry gripped the back of Eggsy’s neck and mashed their lips into a hungry kiss, biting and sucking brutally.

“Oh, my god, finally,” Eggsy moaned into his mouth. With one motion he swept everything from Harry’s desk, papers, inkstands, and debris scattering everywhere, and with another he had vaulted across the table.

“Fuck me, Harry, you magnificent fucking gentleman,” he ordered, resting his buttocks on the edge of the desk and straddling Harry’s hips.

“At _once_ ,” Harry breathed, fingers unceremoniously tugging down Eggsy’s pants and freeing his erection. Harry had to admit, it was even more gorgeous in person. He let Eggsy know so by dropping to his knees and worshipping it with his mouth.

“Oh Lord,” Eggsy groaned. “Stop it, you tease, or I’m gonna come. Get back up here and reach into my breast pocket.”

Harry rose with alacrity and let his fingers find a small bottle of lube and a condom. “Prepared _and_ presumptuous, aren’t we?” he murmured, swatting Eggsy’s bottom sharply.

“You love it,” Eggsy’s glittering smirk would have been the downfall of saints. Harry acknowledged the truth of this by generously lubing his fingers and running one around the rim of Eggsy’s deliciously tight arsehole before sliding it in. “I - ah! fuck,” Eggsy gasped as a second finger joined the first, and then scissored open slowly. “Jesus _fucking_ Christ!”

“My god, I love your filthy fucking mouth,” Harry murmured into Eggsy’s ear as he added another finger and began sliding in and out. Their cocks rubbed against each slickly and Eggsy’s whole body shuddered.

“Hurry up Harry, I ain’t gonna last much longer,” Eggsy panted.

“Ever the hopeless romantic,” Harry remarked, but his fingers disappeared and were replaced in a heartbeat by his hot and thick cock. Eggsy gasped for air and felt his hips buck helplessly.

“Oh, if it’s _romance_ you want,” he managed to retort, between Harry’s steady thrusts, “how ’bout this - I’m fine with fast and sloppy and dirty because I know that we’re going to have all the time in the world in the future. Maybe we’ll fuck in a proper bed, or maybe you can take me again like a dirty tart against your office desk,” he purred lethally into Harry’s ear. He knew it was working when he heard Harry’s breath catch and felt his fingers press bruises into his skin.

“Eggsy,” Harry moaned a warning.

“Come for me, Harry,” he breathed, and pressed his lips against Harry’s in another heavy kiss.

Ever a consummate gentleman, Harry obeyed. Eggsy cried out as his orgasm followed shortly. Harry held him tightly, as if he would escape otherwise, completely ignoring the spunk spurting all over their bespoke suits. When Eggsy was finally done, limp and panting in his arms, Harry gently lowered him from his softening cock and planted another kiss on his cheek.

“Satisfy my curiosity,” Harry said, binning the condom and starting to strip off his now-ruined jacket, “how long have you had my office bugged?”

Eggsy cracked open one blissful eye and favored him with a grin. “Since I did in the last Arthur,” he admitted openly. “Wasn’t sure who the next one would be, figured it would be prudent to make sure we didn’t have any more sudden changes in heart from our leadership. When you came back… well… that’s when I started using it as wank material, instead.”

“You cheeky little shit,” Harry couldn’t seem to stop smiling.

Eggsy laughed as he pulled up his trousers. “Mate, that’s what you get for thinking you can out-spy a spy,” he cocked a tantalizing smirk in Harry’s direction. “And for the record? I’d have to be some kind of blind bloody berk to not see the off switch on those glasses.”

\----

It ended, as most things did, where it began.

Harry strolled into Merlin’s office. “I need a new set of glasses,” he requested with feigned casualness.

Merlin swivelled around to inspect him. His eyes narrowed even as his gaze swept Harry's new suit up and down.

“Well, it’s about bloody time you shagged him,” Merlin said at last. “Here I was thinking I’d have to spend another ‘vacation’ bored to tears.” He made exaggerated air quotes with his fingers and then tossed Harry a new pair. Fumbling, Harry barely caught them.

“Is that all you needed, Arthur?” Merlin had already turned back to his omniscient wall of screens before Harry remembered to close his mouth.

“Yes. Also, consider your pay docked for the month. We’ll call it the Nosy Interfering Bastard Tax,” Harry said coolly, and made his exit with what dignity remained of him.

Merlin grinned remorselessly into his cup of tea. “Worth it,” he said to himself.

 


End file.
